More Than Just a Fan

My life, as I knew it, had been a meticulously curated scrapbook of Jake Echa moments. Each blurry concert photo, each hastily scribbled lyric sheet, each social media screenshot was a precious artifact. But the crown jewel, the Rosetta Stone of my devotion, was the grocery store incident. I’d replayed it so many times in my head that the fluorescent lights of aisle five practically hummed with cinematic grandeur. The way his perfectly sculpted eyebrow had twitched when I’d nearly decapitated him with a rogue avocado. The almost imperceptible widening of his eyes. It was, in my humble, broke-fan opinion, a meet-cute for the ages. Chloe, bless her pragmatic heart, called it a collision. I called it destiny.

And now, destiny, or at least a very well-timed job posting, had landed me behind the counter of “The Daily Grind,” a coffee shop Jake Echa was rumored to frequent. Rumored, mind you. The whispers started subtly, like the first hint of a new song dropping. Then they grew, amplified by hushed conversations between baristas and the occasional strategically placed fan photo on a corkboard. This was it. My chance. My destiny, again, was knocking. Or rather, it was brewing.